The Writing On My Heart
by yssssw
Summary: After the mission to save her sister, Miranda celebrates a little too hard and pays Shepard a visit in his quarters. There they must face hard truths about loyalties, life... and a lot of foolishness.


**A/N: **The premise kind of got away from me and this turned out fairly absurd. I make no apologies though. Thanks to Druzhnik for putting up with my neuroses.

* * *

A secret agent? I didn't care what he did. A number? I had already forgotten it. I knew exactly who he was and what he was. And everything, every smallest detail, would be written on my heart forever. — _The Spy Who Loved Me_

* * *

**The Writing On My Heart**

Oriana was supposed to be a simple exchange: no violence and definitely no body count. Today his penchant for attracting random gunfire seemed to bother Miranda even more than it usually annoyed him. Shepard exhaled—of course it did, it wasn't _his _sister that almost died a few hours ago—and he was thankful that at least this time the mission had been an undoubted success.

A soft buzz emanated from his desk area, indicating that somebody was trying to reach him. He tossed aside the datapad he had been absentmindedly reading for what seemed like hours now and reluctantly got up. If he didn't stop the pervasive humming, EDI would just pipe her voice into his cabin anyway.

"Commander, EDI just got word from our mysterious supervisor," came Joker's voice once he accepted the call. "Apparently we have orders to depart for a distant sector, something about a Collector ship. You should have gotten a message at your terminal. He wants you to follow up in the conference room."

"Thanks," he said. "I'll look at it later, and EDI tell your boss that he can wait until tomorrow too. I've dealt with enough surprises for today." Or for a lifetime, he thought. "What's our ETA?"

EDI's robotic inflection silenced whatever response Joker was about to give. "Estimated time of arrival is 19 hours, 13 minutes, 27 seconds."

Shepard eyed the clock. It was very late; he must have been sitting on the couch for a while. It wasn't long before he heard another crunch of static that meant Joker was about to say something else.

"I know I'm just the guy that presses the buttons up here, but isn't working for the bad guys starting to get a little old?" Joker said. "Not that I miss the Alliance uniforms, those things chafed like crazy. But first we cleaned up all of those failed Cerberus assignments and now we're flying off to the edge of the galaxy on a whim to investigate a rumor. Doesn't it bother you, being a gofer for those jerks?"

Shepard paused and rubbed his forehead. "Look, Joker, I don't like it any more than you do, but what we're doing is important. Cerberus is a tool, a means to an end, and we're using them, not the other way around. Don't forget that."

That seemed to encourage him. "Aye, Commander. But if we manage to make it out of all this in one piece, I'm definitely requisitioning those lava lamps."

Shepard smirked but decided to ignore that wisecrack. With the way the Illusive Man had handled Horizon and the leak to the Alliance, manipulation seemed like a foregone conclusion when it came to Cerberus. It was doubtful this new mission would be any different. And it was exhausting that, in addition to the Collectors, he was struggling against someone that enjoyed taking advantage of him at every turn. Being the one controlled, however, was not as much fun. Nineteen hours of lead time at least meant that he could get some rest before the inevitable briefing and his life lesson.

"Commander, you're being paged by Operative Lawson." Or maybe not.

"Alright EDI, where is she?" he said without much enthusiasm. In truth, he'd begun to secretly enjoy visiting Miranda these days, though he would never tell her that.

"The call is coming from… the elevator," Joker said.

Well, that was strange. But trying to process what that could possibly mean only succeeded in making his head hurt. A lot had happened today. Shepard pushed off the desk and turned to leave but regretted it immediately. His injured shoulder cried out in pain causing him to stumble and his breath to hitch. It was clearly worse than he had first thought when it had happened earlier today, but getting used to all these upgrades and implants took some time. If he got it attended to at all, it would have to be later. After grumbling about "useless Asari mercenaries," he relaxed his shoulder and headed for the elevator.

Shepard stepped into the hallway outside his cabin and paused, listening to the rhythmic knocking that echoed from inside the lift. He took a few hesitant steps toward the panel and pushed the button to open the doors. There was very little that could've prepared him for what awaited as they parted.

Miranda stood leaning against the wall, head buried in the crook of her arm, holding a bottle of champagne as she rapped with her free hand. Even though the doors were now fully open, she still continued to make the knocking motion, and he, now thoroughly puzzled, grasped her fist to settle it.

Miranda looked up, taken aback. "Oh! Shepard!" She paused and stared at him before breaking out into a smile. "Hi!"

Though her dark hair was slightly mussed, and the usual fire was missing from her eyes, he noticed a glow present there instead, which struck him as much more inviting. His XO currently wasn't as intimidating as the woman he was used to, but Miranda had always been captivating. But in a refreshing, puzzling, fascinating way, not in an "I wanna see you naked, but I'm scared you'll flay me like an Asari" way, which is how he imagined everyone else must see her.

"You feeling okay?"

Miranda took a step forward. "I'm fine." She pointed her thumb behind her. "That thing is capricious. You should really do something about that. Someone could get hurt," she said as they walked.

Something was definitely up with her, and he suspected it had a lot to do with the half-empty bottle of alcohol in her hand. However, he found himself enjoying this, so he played along for now. "Okay, the next time we stop for retrofits the elevator is fired," he said, stepping into his cabin.

"Hah!" She looked behind her with a triumphant grin before turning back to him. "I am a very powerful individual, you know. Much more powerful than that elevator. Or all elevators for that matter."

"Yes, I thought so too," he said.

"Yes, I thought so too," Miranda echoed.

He stopped walking beside the aquarium and looked at her, bemused for a moment. She stopped as well, facing him with an absent smile. After a few seconds, she abruptly piped up, "I brought champagne!"

Miranda now held up the dark bottle, plastered with a large image of various fruits. "I can see that," he said, taking the wine. The small table in front of his couch seemed like a good spot to get rid of it.

"You want a librariation?" Miranda hiccupped and frowned in concentration before trying again. "Libation."

"No thanks. Where did you get it anyway?" he said, walking back to her.

"Pervert, downstairs," she said with a slight shrug.

"There aren't actually any st—W-What?"

"You know, bald head." Miranda ruffled his hair. "Grumpy. Always looks like this." She trailed her fingers down his face and pulled his mouth into a frown. After letting out a soft giggle at her antics, she removed her hands.

"His name's Rupert."

"That's what I said."

She paused before looking past him to the bottle across the room. "Oooh, you have champagne. Might I have a drink?"

He smiled. "Help yourself."

Miranda swept by him, intent on doing just that. With a swooping motion, she grabbed an empty cup and began to pour. Unfortunately her depth perception wasn't quite what it used to be and for several seconds the wine slurped uselessly to the floor.

"Need some help?"

"No!" The metal cup was immediately tossed over her head. It smashed to the floor with a thump and rolled under his desk. Snatching the bottle instead, she took a drink and faced him.

"Just so you know, I don't owe you anything after today."

"Okay." He didn't know what else to say.

Miranda stepped back up to him and proceeded. "I'm not in your debt." She poked his chest. "I'm not. Just because today is the happiest…" She bit her lip and averted her eyes.

"I devoted over two years of my life to bringing you back, and I barely received a thank you. I'm hitting nails on several heads here, Shepard. Two years! Do you know how long that is? That's like—That's like.." She trailed off, staring at the ceiling, before eventually drifting to the bright blue light coming from the large glass aquarium. He watched a frown followed by a slight recoil interrupt Miranda's zoning out.

"Something wrong?"

Miranda squinted. "That fish is staring at me."

Shepard suppressed a smile and walked over to her. He rested a hand on the cool glass and leaned in to look over her shoulder. "I don't think he means anything by it," he said finally.

Miranda turned to face him and suddenly they were much nearer than he realized or intended, their faces only inches apart. His pulse jumped, but looking away from her made his world spin a little. The blood pounding in his ears threatened to drown out any coherent thought, so it was just fine if they stayed like this for the foreseeable future, he decided. Her eyes were just so _blue_. Shepard stifled a groan. _That sounded like something she might say._ Okay, so maybe he wasn't fine. He needed to get her out of here before something regrettable happened. Yet, the seconds ticked on and he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

"You smell like strawberries."

Shepard laughed, simultaneously relieved and somewhat saddened that the tension had been broken. At least _she_ seemed immune. "I do not."

When Miranda brushed past him and headed for the couch, he thought he heard a singsong response of "Do too," but he couldn't be sure. His senses had yet to fully recover. Eventually he turned to locate her, and found himself looking up at her staggered form. One foot perched on the cushion, while the other rested on top of the sofa as she stared at his collection of model ships.

A sense of awe crept into her voice when she spoke. "So that's what they did with Sovereign. Simply incredible." Miranda reached out a finger and gently tapped the glass. "Is he still sentient?" She scrunched up her nose. "Is it even a he? You know these are the kinds of questions you should've asked when you had the chance."

Shepard tilted his head. "You sure you're fine?"

"Please Shepard, I'm-" At that instant her footing slipped. Alarm flashed across her face and the wine slipped out of her hand as she tumbled downward to the couch below. Shepard was too far away to do anything but watch while Miranda landed on the sofa with an unceremonious flop. He quickly stood over her, looking for any obvious signs of damage. All in all she landed quite perfectly, he surmised, which shouldn't surprise him now that he thought about it.

"Whoa." Miranda looked up at him, dazed. "Are you okay?"

Shepard rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm great. You alright?"

She folded her arms. "You don't have to dote on me. I can take care of myself. Maybe sometimes I need support or a friend but never a prot- *hic* a protec- *hic*"

"A protector," he finished.

Miranda smiled. "I have the hiccups."

Shepard returned the smile and knelt down to brush a few errant strands of hair out of her eyes.

She beamed up at him dreamily and suddenly staring felt far easier than trying to breathe. As his mind went blank, he was vaguely aware that he had never been allowed to see that particular smile before. In fact, the last time he could remember feeling this way was a very fuzzy memory of bright lights and soft features right before he woke up alone on Minuteman Station.

He didn't know how long he sat there, in that moment, but eventually her attention refocused on the bottle sitting beside him on the table. "I need to borrow another drink," she said.

Once she had broken eye contact, he felt his brain beginning to work again. He followed her line of sight, registering that despite her earlier clumsiness, the wine was still intact. "You didn't spill a drop. Of course you're graceful even when you're wasted." Miranda was still locked on the bottle. "As long as you don't have to pour me anything," he added, though it was mostly to himself.

"Hmm?" Miranda looked back to him. "Oh, alcohol doesn't affect me. I don't get hangovers," she said and leaned forward to grab the champagne.

"Maybe not, but you _are_ drunk Miranda."

"That's nonsense," she said, waving her hand, and then proceeded to tip the bottle back.

Shepard frowned. "Okay, I think you've had enough of the refreshments." Her grip on the bottle was tight, but after a small struggle, she relinquished it.

"I was going to finish that." Miranda pursed her lips sullenly while he stood. Shepard tried to ignore her and moved to deposit the alcohol under his bed, where at least she couldn't spot it this time.

"Hey, don't you run away from me," Miranda called out after him, her annoyance forgotten. "I'm one of the good guys you know. I saved the Council from batarians once."

"Is that how you see yourself?"

"As a batarian?"

"Noble."

Miranda considered the point. "I have no problem with it. As long as I don't have to be the Hero of Elysium, or Savior of the Citadel," she finished, with a lilt and a smirk.

Shepard laughed, retaking his earlier sitting position on the table. "And you said you weren't funny."

"Yeah, well if you feel the need to point it out every time, that doesn't really help your justifi- justification."

"Nice work."

Miranda stuck her tongue out at him defiantly in response.

Shepard tried to keep from smiling as he moved to sit on the couch beside her prone form. In the dim light of his cabin he was now able to see a light tinge of pink had washed over her cheeks. Either she was embarrassed or..

"You're hot," he said, feeling her cheek and then forehead with the back of his hand. Maybe Chakwas had stocked his cabin with something. He really didn't feel like leaving her alone up here and any visit to the med bay was sure to prompt questions about his shoulder anyway. Who knows how long-

She scoffed. "Really Shepard, that is awfully trite. Just because I like you doesn't mean you don't even have to try."

It was a delayed effect but once he processed her words, he looked back to her and immediately removed his hand. "What? I said- No." He tried to mask how startled he was, but knew he failed.

"Oh, you meant temperature. Well, if your solution is to remove more clothing, I have heard that one before."

Shepard pinched his brow and groused quietly.

Miranda looked at him, but appeared undisturbed. "I'm just saying, that stuff never works," she said. "I wish it were that easy."

That was met with a lengthy eye-roll. "For you, it is _always_ that easy."

She didn't seem to have a response to that and he was glad this little misunderstanding was over. "You are flushed," he said slowly. He brought her hand up to feel her forehead. "See?"

Miranda raised her eyebrows and her jaw dropped slightly. "Oh. Right," she said, and promptly found an invisible thread of her suit very interesting.

Shepard felt himself placing his hand over hers to stop the idle motion. "Your mind went right to the cheesy come-on though. Doesn't say much about your opinion of me."

She smiled weakly but still refused to look at him. "Like I said, I have a lot of experience with them. Doesn't make me any good with people unfortunately." Her thumb began running over his palm, making abstract circles.

"Well, I'd like to think we're getting better."

Miranda shook her head. "Self-improvement is narcissism."

"Easy to say for someone who succeeds at everything they do."

Instead of the smirk he expected, Miranda brought her free hand up to massage her temple. For a moment he had forgotten what started this whole line of conversation.

"Foolish sentiment," she said and interlaced their fingers.

Shepard narrowed his eyes at her curiously. "Have you had anything to eat or drink since yesterday? Ever since the message came through about Oriana you've been pretty... wound." The mention of her sister's name made Miranda tense momentarily. "You're probably just dehydrated."

She snorted. "Please, I've had plenty to drink tonight."

"Well that's for certain," he said under his breath. Miranda gave him a questioning look before he glanced down and saw their linked hands. Shepard quickly got up, severing their contact, and ran his hand through his hair. "So tell me about the batarians," he said over his shoulder as he headed for the bathroom.

"Well me and Jacob.. Jacob and I... Us." Her story stopped short and the drip of the faucet echoed in the small space while he searched for a rag. "Hey, where are you?"

Shepard turned on the faucet and raised his voice. "I'm still here. Keep going."

"Say, did I ever tell you how we make- how we met?"

_You never tell me anything_, he replied silently to himself, but he knew that was being unfair. Miranda never lied to him either, and that was more than he could say for the rest of Cerberus. So he settled on silence instead and tried to appreciate that she was doing something she rarely did: share something about herself. The washcloth he had been searching for now thoroughly soaked, he shut off the cool water and made his way back to Miranda.

"I was on a space-huh? I was on a space station. The bar I was waiting in was being attacked by pirates," she said. "And their leader," she paused to snicker. "Their leader, he wore an eyepatch!" No longer able to contain it, Miranda chortled goofily.

He stopped short and watched her. "How many glasses of wine did you say you had tonight?"

Miranda finished laughing and looked at him. "Who cares?" she said. "Besides you."

Shepard wanted to argue that he _did_ care, because it was his stupid bedroom that she stumbled into in the middle of the night. He sighed. "Fine," was all he said.

She continued as if he hadn't spoken, her tone of voice lower. "And that bloody pelican down in engineering that won't stop staring at my ass." Miranda lifted a shoulder. "But people do that all the time."

Shepard felt a twinge of annoyance at her resignation. Miranda worked hard to get where she was, he knew. She deserved more than that.

She peered at him closely. "What have you got there?"

Shepard glanced down at the wet cloth still in his hand. _Oh, right._ He tried to caution her as he sat back down.

"Okay, here, this will feel good."

"Ack! Tthbbht!" Her face contorted comically as he gently dabbed her face.

"Settle down. Alright, that's enough."

Folding up the cloth, he rested it along her forehead. She licked her lips and flaunted a sarcastic grin.

"My hero."

"I thought you didn't need saving," he said, giving her a light poke in the ribs.

Miranda ruminated on this for several moments. Finally she looked up at him with a glare. "Yeah, well, you live with a rat."

His view shifted back to the shelves where his makeshift roommate resided. "Now you're going to hurt his feelings."

"He doesn't have feelings! He's a rat."

"He's a hamster. Maybe you should get some sleep."

Miranda sat up. "I don't want to sleep. I wanna do something fun."

Shepard's eyebrows rose. "Wow, I hope that's a euphemism." He hadn't actually meant to say that. These mouth-running-away-with-him slips needed to stop.

"You and me both," she muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"What?" he said, his voice higher than he intended. Shepard stood up reflexively, wide-eyed, a half-smile on his lips. Unfortunately that sudden movement was too much for an injury that was most likely in need of further medical attention. His shoulder soreness flared up and induced a weary grimace.

Miranda examined his face and then gravitated to his shoulder. _Of course she noticed; she's Miranda_.

"You took a pretty good shot today from that missile launcher."

"It's nothing," he said, shaking his head.

"You are aware I am a doctor." In this state he doubted she was much of anything, except an immensely attractive temptation. "Let me look at it," she said. "Take off your shirt."

"You first," he said before his brain could filter anything. Shepard mentally slapped himself. Whatever the appropriate response was to her concern, it certainly wasn't _that_. And he was validated fairly quickly, as her fingers deftly moved up her suit to the zipper.

Miranda heaved a dramatic sigh. "Fine," she intoned, drawing out the word, and started to unzip. For someone who might mistake the bathroom for his closet, she was still quite nimble, he noted. The zipper had gotten halfway down her chest before he was snapped out of his stupor and hastily moved to stop her hands.

"Hey, whoa whoa wait a minute. You need to cool down. What about a shower instead?"

Her eyes lit up. "Mmmm, a shower does sound much better. Let's go."

His face flushed. This had quickly gone from bad to worse, and he'd put his foot in his mouth once again. "No. No, I meant just you," he managed to get out.

Miranda glowered. "Well that's considerably less fun."

Shepard took a deep breath. "It'll help you feel better."

Miranda grumbled something unintelligible that sounded like begrudging acceptance, so he nodded and offered her a hand. Miranda rose, haltingly and then all at once. Aside from flash of pain that radiated from under his collarbone at the way she crashed into him, this wasn't so bad. The way his arm wrapped around her waist for support, they were very.. snug.

Once they were stable Miranda rested her head on his shoulder. "The shower is that way," she said, pointing in the general direction of his terminal.

"Yeah, thanks," he said, taking a shaky step forward together. Her concerns over his comfort were probably well-founded. Miranda always thought she was right and it wouldn't be nearly as aggravating if she were wrong more often.

"See, I'm useful," she said with a faint smile.

"Yeah, I'll buy you an ice cream later."

"Oooh, you better," she cooed. Together they stepped through the doorway and entered the rather tight confines of his personal bathroom. Bending down, Shepard prepared to help hoist her up, but Miranda shooed him away with a biotically-charged pinch to his ear and easily plopped herself up on the counter next to the sink.

"I'm going try and find something for you to take." From the unfocused look in her eyes, he doubted she heard any of that. Maybe she was still thinking about the ice cream. It didn't matter. Shepard moved to the medicine cabinet and began rifling through it.

Miranda cocked her head. "Chambers is always staring at you, you know?" She looked over to him, presumably anticipating a reaction. When she received none, she huffed and continued. "When she thinks you aren't looking. She's pretty I guess, if you're into that sort of thing."

Now it was his turn to pay little attention to what she had to say. He needed to find some kind of solution before this night got even more out of hand.

"You must get lonely up here all by yourself," Miranda said. "I'm sure she's probably a pain in the ass but why wouldn't you-"

"What? I see her all the time. She's a very friendly girl." Shepard wasn't sure what she was getting at but it was probably best to redirect. While it might've been amusing to needle her further, he truly wasn't aware of any disguised intentions from his yeoman. Nor did he care, really.

Miranda threw him a look full of feigned exasperation. "Oh come on, Shepard, you pass by her station maybe once a day," she said as if it was obvious. "Anyone can pull it off for five minutes. I'm nice for five minutes."

"So you're not like this all the time?"

"You should be so lucky," she muttered. When he looked over to her, Miranda met his stare impertinently. They regarded each other, and, after a moment, shared a smile. For a few seconds the room seemed to shrink. The few feet of space in-between them became all he was aware of, and it sparked a warmth in his chest that was probably better off left unexamined.

Shepard dropped his gaze and stopped his fruitless search with a close of the cabinet, but not before snagging a bottle of painkillers. There was nothing in here that could help her, and truthfully, he didn't even know what he was looking for. Some aspirin would have to do; at least it would help her fever.

"Speaking of that jezebel," she said, "I should speak to her about commandeering a private washroom of my own." Miranda surveyed the area. "This is nice. Why didn't the XO's office come equipped with one? Am I really that much lesser than you?"

She did her best to glare at him with indignation, but it wasn't hard to see through it. Her expression was hard, but her eyes were soft, and it wouldn't have caught him so off guard if he were more used to the idea of flirting with her like this. _Wait a second, that is not what's happening._

Any reaction would only encourage her, so he simply kept quiet. Instead he fiddled with the pill bottle and tipped a couple of aspirin into his hand.

Yawning, Miranda lifted up her arms dramatically. "I'm always asking the important questions when all I wanna do is.. is to..." Her voice faded out and she tilted her head side to side, humming in thought.

Shepard started to respond but went still. It was unlikely he had any clue about what Miranda truly wanted. But that didn't mean he wasn't curious. "Revenge?" He exhaled and tried again. "Retire? Fall in love?" At that last one, Miranda stiffened and her grip on the smooth metal of the counter tightened.

"Is that what you want?"

For a long time the gentle hum of the drive core was the only noise Shepard heard. He watched her stare at the ceiling as the seconds ticked by, but was not going to interrupt whatever she was doing. Eventually she smiled softly to herself and looked at him.

"It didn't use to be." Miranda reached out and touched his nose with her finger. "But you're never gonna know that."

Shepard smiled. It was best to not attach too much meaning to anything Miranda said tonight, and he had let this go on too far long. Maybe it was fun for him, but he was sure that she wouldn't share his opinion in the morning. Hopefully she wouldn't remember; he certainly didn't plan on telling her.

"There, I said it. I feel better for it," Miranda said, and he wasn't sure whether it was an explanation or an apology.

Shepard filled a glass with water, transferred the tablets and watched as they dissolved. Then he made eye contact and handed it to her.

"Drink this. Stay clothed. I'll be right back," he said in the sternest voice he could muster this late at night.

Miranda gave him a botched mock salute that began over her hairline. If he didn't know how mortified she would normally be by something like that, he would've thought it was cute.

It didn't take long to cross his cabin and find the small, ivory bedside table that housed the sound system controls and his extra casual wear. In his haste Shepard fumbled with the smooth drawers and pinched his finger. He silently cursed himself. _It's just Miranda_. He snatched a white shirt and a pair of grey sweats that he hoped would fit.

The bathroom door opened with a hiss and Shepard found Miranda more or less in the same position he left her in, which was a relief. She stopped twiddling her thumbs and noted his entrance indifferently.

Shepard held out the outfit and shrugged. "I got you something to change into. It probably doesn't meet your normal wardrobe standards but it is Cerberus standard issue after all, so it's not my fault."

Miranda looked down at the proffered sleepwear and made a face. "That probably would not be my first choice. Don't you have anything else up your sleeve?"

He tucked the clothes under his arm and looked down at the white undershirt he was wearing. Shepard couldn't help but chuckle inwardly. "Well technically speaking, I don't actually have-"

Holding her finger to his lips, she shushed him. "Shh. Shh. Don't interrupt me."

Shepard sighed, but decided to let it go. Instead, he tried his best to talk around her finger. After a garbled, "Um, alright," she gingerly removed it.

A quiet settled over them for a few seconds before he prompted her. "You were saying?"

Miranda frowned. "No, _I_ was saying." Looking down to her lap, she paused again. "Where was I?"

"The outfit."

"Right! These clothes, I can't wear them. I'll look like Grandma Shepard." Miranda shuddered at the thought.

Shepard smirked and patted her knee gently. "That's not true. You have much nicer hips."

She laughed flatly. "Ha. Ha," she said, giving him a sidelong glance. She turned to look at him fully and squinted at him in suspicion. "Don't try and distract me."

The smile was still on his face, but he raised his hands innocently to let her know that she could continue.

Slowly Miranda reached up and with great effort swept a lock of ebon hair out of her face. "I have some clothes in my room. You could go get them."

Shepard swallowed nervously. Leaving her in his cabin alone and naked did not strike him as the smartest idea. There was no telling where she would be or what state of undress she would be in when he returned. And that thought caused him to wince. "I'm.. not sure that's necessary."

"Ugh, come on," Miranda said, but she sounded more embarrassed than bothered.

At that moment a very different thought occurred to him and Shepard couldn't contain his smug grin if he tried. "Wow. That's very sweet." The change in his tone caused Miranda to lift an eyebrow. "Someone who usually cares so much about secrets is prepared to let me roam around in her office unsupervised," he said. "You usually take your privacy very seriously, but you're willing to rise above it because you trust me."

An anxious frown passed over her face but was gone just as quickly. "I might even find whatever made you look so worried right there," he said. "Maybe I _should_ go down to your place-"

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled, finally taking the clothes from him and tossing them onto the counter.

Miranda ushered him out of the room before he could make any more quips. He had to admit he didn't mind the teasing as long as he was the one doing it. At least that way he felt like he was in control.

Soon Shepard found himself leaning over his desk, in the same position he had occupied earlier this evening. His mind drifted back to that conversation. _We're using them, not the other way around_. He didn't know if that was ever really true. Then again, after what happened tonight, very little seemed to make sense.

A peaceful hum—actually when he listened closer, it was more like soft, silvery intonations—drifted in from the room behind him. It was too quiet for him to make out, but he supposed it shouldn't surprise him that Miranda had a beautiful voice; everything else about her was just as alluring.

Shepard looked over his shoulder and flashed a wan smile in the direction of the running shower. Did it ever bother him, working with Cerberus? Okay, maybe once in a while. Depended on who was by his side.

The terminal in front of him beeped. It could have been a message from one of the few old friends he had left: Tali, Wrex, Anderson, even his mother. Shepard shook his head. More likely it was some piece of information related to the Collector mission. Most likely it was an arrogant response from the Illusive Man addressing his earlier behavior.

Even the thought of devoting effort to anything outside of his cabin fatigued him. Everything related to the Reapers could wait, at least until tomorrow. Miranda seemed to be feeling more like her old self. At least he could finally go to sleep without having to wait and see her back down to her office first. He changed into his sleepwear and approached his bed, in search of release.

Shepard crawled under his duvet and shut his eyes. He tried to block out any thoughts about the next day or the fateful memories of the last time he'd been this close to a Collector ship. Rather, he was determined to try and enjoy what little relief he was allowed before he was out there risking his life again. Soon he felt himself slipping away.

* * *

Awareness ebbed and flowed as Shepard hovered on the threshold of consciousness but never left entirely. The distant whirr of a door opening probably deserved his attention, but barely registered. The fog was growing thicker by the minute, and struggling for alertness seemed like an arduous journey to an unappealing goal. It's a testament to how tired he was that he didn't feel the soft weight on top of him until it had comfortably settled on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to a mound of dark hair flared out across his chest.

After tucking a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I hope you're wearing pants."

Her response came in the form of a sleepy mumble. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Shepard brought his left arm up to cradle her and she instinctively cuddled closer. At that moment the full reality of his situation hit him and it was enough to knock him out of the sleep haze he had previously maintained. This was bad, despite how wonderful it felt. For all his resolve earlier in the night to not make things between them uncomfortable the next day, here she was: presumably still impaired, most likely half-naked, and contoured directly into his side.

After a few moments of deliberation, he conceded defeat. It had already taken a colossal effort just to get Miranda into bed and he didn't want to jeopardize that. This would be so much easier if she wasn't so soft and warm; if she didn't smell so good, it reminded him of… strawberries.

He wanted to laugh, deeply and fully, until his sides hurt and he felt sick. It had been so long since he had time to relax and be happy; since he had felt like really laughing. He looked back down to Miranda's sleeping figure. But doing that would surely wake her, and God, he didn't think he could ever do anything that would disturb the way she looked right now.

Shepard rubbed her arm up and down slowly. Tomorrow would be a long morning, but he would make sure they survived it, together. He breathed in deeply and whispered to her. "You're gonna be okay, Miranda."

If she heard him, she gave no acknowledgement. Instead she wrapped her arm around him tighter and exhaled serenely, managing to get out a murmured, "Goodnight."

Moving to kiss her forehead, he spoke softly. "Goodnight."

They settled into a comfortable silence. For a second he actually felt himself drifting off to sleep again, something he would've sworn was impossible with her this close to him. Her eyes were still shut and her face was now buried in his shirt, but her voice was ice water even if it was muffled.

"John?"

"Hmm?" He stroked her arm again to show he was listening.

"I have a reputation to keep up. You can't tell anyone about anything that happened tonight." That should be no problem, he thought.

"Especially the morning sex we're having when we wake up."

Shepard bit back a laugh and closed his eyes. Okay, that one he might have to mention to her tomorrow.


End file.
